reflections from the war zone

Feeling stupid, I released the stranger from my warm embrace.  Could’ve sworn it was “Smokey,” my sidekick and protector on the streets every Sunday night for years- back when harsh words, fights, threats and brandished weapons were a weekly occurrence.  They called our middle of the night line “The War Zone.”

His face demanded explanation.  The man behind him- a friend I hadn’t seen in years –said: “That’s not Smokey Eric!  Smokey’s doing fine.  He’s not here.”  The guy looked like him… but 20 years too young… and so we began to tell stories… it was a wonderful part of my Sunday evening and my Sunday nights on skidrow have been an incredibly enriching portion of my life.

 A life Smokey saved more than once.

An angry man, someone who came to our line insanely unhappy, was raging because he’d missed out on a sandwich or a jacket or something… it was a long time ago… missing out on something in line is a hard reminder of all the other things in life that somehow slipped away or never came your direction.  The guy lost it and in what seemed all too quick a moment, he was behind me with a knife in my side.

We had one standard response for those who would threaten us with pipes, screwdrivers, boards, knives or guns: “Our only weapon on the streets is Jesus Christ.  What you’re doing is between you and Him.  I’d put that away.”  Sound’s so brave and holy.  It was always scary and I rarely slept on those nights.  It just was what it was.  And He protected us.

He also surrounded us with friends on the streets who came alongside us in love.  Skinny Smokey- who lived in a parking lot –disarmed the man like something from the movies.  He threw the knife into the middle of Main St and told the man he’d be better off if he ran.  He did.  Smokey patted me on the shoulder and said: “Everything’s okay.”

After that- for hundreds of Sunday nights, we’d pull up in my little Honda Civic, then Debi’s van and finally our first Jackets for Jesus van- people would go to set up and Smokey would follow me, to stand behind me- it gave me such peace to know that he “had my back” literally.  My mom use to pray for him.

Hearing us tell stories the young man– who looked so much like a Smokey use to look –seemed transfixed as my friend said he’d seen Smokey a few months ago, it’s been a few years for me.  4 or 5 years ago he’d gotten into a program to get off the streets, to get sober, to find a new start.  A few months went by and skinny Smokey showed up to visit.  Wearing a suit someone had donated, we embraced, he filled me in on the good things and then looking at his watch said: “I’ve got to get back.  I’ll stop in again sometime.”  It was a year or more before I saw him again.  Much healthier, in his own clothes, smiling… we spent a few minutes together and he said: “I know you have to work Eric.  Take care of the line.  We’ll see you later.”  And he was gone…

Thought I saw him last night… and it made me miss him… our times together… and it made me glad.  Successful escape from the trappings of chronic poverty and the pitfalls of skidrow is no small task.

Smokey’s friend said he’d visited once last year; that he has a place in Long Beach and a job working with computers… the young man I’d startled with a hug stood wide-eyed and speechless.  I prayed the story gave him hope to believe that he could find the way out of his current darkness.  Just remembering the feel of my old friend’s hand on my shoulder- his sure voice as he’d lean into me and say: “Don’t worry Eric, I’ve got your back” was more than enough joy to fill my night.

We’ve all grown through so many war zones.  The challenges we’ve faced have been far beyond anything we ever imagined when we were children.  My prayer for each of us this morning is that we might be open to discover the friendship of those God might send our ways- from the most unexpected quarters –to watch our back.  It’s the lesson we must never forget: we belong together… thanks so much for being my friend and for continuing to love and support the work of Jackets for Jesus on the streets of Los Angeles.

We’re going this Sunday night.

You’re Invited.